


Tortured Artist

by tennreasonsvv



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Character Study, Descent into Madness, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tennreasonsvv/pseuds/tennreasonsvv
Summary: There are waste-locks, there are cells, there are flushers, and there are Purgers. Flushes are the product of Purges. Purges destroy everything and come at the worst possible time with a deadly price. A Flush is issued directly after a purge. there are consequences Edgar Vargas.





	Tortured Artist

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fanfiction for the JtHM fandom. I am toying with my headcanon that Johnny created the Wall Monster on his own accord, but in a rather manipulated way.

He wasn’t sure whether it was his catty lucky rabbit’s foot or the mouthy store clerk that resolved him to actually using the pack of Van Der Hagen on his radial artery; he was sure, as the bathtub filled red and he felt every single nerve in his body screech with ferocious anger, that death would be certain this time. He hadn’t took into account the bite a razor of that sharpness could register into already deeply-marred wrists and he was suffering in warm, copper water for a quite long stretch of time before he took his last shattered breath. The universe all collectively took theirs too as Edgar Vargas disappeared from its existence and the beast was unlocked.

God offered no answers and Heaven no comfort. Instead he was left with more questions. The first was how he had ended up there in the first place. In his right mind Edgar would have never actually done what he had done. Oh sure, he had contemplated it and made some half-hearted attempts just to see how it would go, but to actually do it with the full-frontal idea of actually expiring? Well it was wrong not only to him but to his religion. He could remember moments where he would pour over articles and newspaper submissions about ‘suicide’ and they all spelled out his ultimate destination. It was not Heaven.

“I think there’s been a mistake.” He spoke to the clerks-person (angel?) at the front desk.

“Yes, but it wasn’t us this time. We weren’t expecting you to even pay a visit this early, Mr. Vargas. I must say that this won’t look very good in the records when it comes to the real judgement time.” Saint Peter said, looking up from an almost comically small book for what probably housed records of every person who had ever existed or will ever exist.

“Visit? I’m visiting?” Edgar echoed, “I’m not understanding.”

“Edgar Vargas I suggest you have this crisis elsewhere, there’s a line behind you. Some people would like to begin the judgement process before lunch break, hm?” the angel shot him a glare and called out a ‘next!’ as Edgar wandered off to the side.

His foot hit an empty beer can and he lifted up his read sneaker to find it was labeled ‘Inopportune’. The writer in him saw the irony in the symbol and kicked it far, far away, further out of the gates of Heaven. It looked slightly cleaner on the other side.

Edgar paced anxiously on the curb of Heaven’s walkway until a shadow crowded from behind him. He turned to see a small man with thinning hair, white soulless eyes, and a tiny dent of a nose glaring at where his back once was.

“Edgar Vargas? I’m Damned Gregory, I was sent to keep an eye on you and maybe have you sit for a while while things are straightened out elsewhere. Please follow me and wear this badge. It’ll make the others feel more at peace with your presence.” his head looked down at his arms, “Good God, man. You were really going for the morgue with those weren’t you.”

Edgar sighed shakily, “Is there anything you can give me? Maybe a holy band-aid at least?”

Damned Gregory’s eyes presumably traveled back up to Edgar and widened as if he had forgotten that the injured wrists belonged to someone.

“I have some string and needle.” the heathen shrugged into deep pockets of a dingy coat.

Edgar’s face mixed with both a grimace and a questioning look.

“Shit’s too expensive in Hell man. I gotta make do somehow. What color do you want?” He pulled out tiny spindles of red, blue, yellow, and green yarn.

“I think green should be okay.” Edgar said, the idea of having his wounds actually sewn shut was nauseating.

“Let’s go to the main room and then we’ll see what I can do, yeah?” Damned Gregory pocketed his thread and put out a pudgy hand, signaling Edgar to follow ahead of him.

The demon explained to Edgar who he was and what function he served in Heaven. He divulged details of some particular damned individuals getting to room and eat in Heaven as long as they did their share of busy work and kept their hands busy and never idle. Of course, he went on, this plan never pulled through and most ended up right back in Hell because of their blatant disregard for how things were and where they belonged in it all. He explained to Edgar that today would more than likely be both his and Edgar’s first and last trip to Heaven.

This was all good material for a psychological Christian drama fiction novel, but Edgar was still lost regarding a few things. He started with the one he felt the demon could answer the best.

“Why is it so dirty here? I mean, I wasn’t expecting walls of white and glittering jewel-encrusted toilets but I also wasn’t aware Heaven had outhouses. Where I live we don’t even have outhouses.” Edgar questioned as he walked alongside the man.

“Simple. We all come in so dirty. Even the filthiest of the human sludge have to go to Heaven first before they can be deposited to their true un-resting place. Judgement is always held here since God doesn’t feel like going to the Holy Courtroom. I think we even just ended up using a book that decides your sins against your forgiveness. The place is filthy because you new people drag it in with you. I must thank you personally Edgar, the only thing you brought with you was your blood and it stayed relatively well on your body.” Damned Gregory said as they approached a tunnel. He stopped to regard Edgar.

“You’re basically saying that what’s out here is leftovers from our past lives?” Edgar asked as he stepped into the dimness of the tunnel. He could feel Gregory behind him.

“Precisely. And well if you see anything lying around out here then that just means we, the damned, aren’t doing our job correctly.” Gregory finished as they stepped into a room filled with people. Edgar blinked once to realize they were sitting and blinked another few times to realize just how many chairs there were. He acknowledged an empty seat and stared at it before he realized a fetus was there and he quickly became acquainted with Gregory’s side.

“This is the promised land.” Edgar could feel the bitterness on his tongue as he clicked it against the back of his front teeth, “I don’t see a lot of milk and honey.”

“They sell it as a drink at the Taco Bell over there.” Gregory offered in what he probably perceived was a helpful away. Instead Edgar’s stomach churned uneasily.

“You realize now what a lot of these people never got the opportunity to. That those kiddy cartoons and those illustrations by fourteenth century white European fucks are all lies. No milk and honey, endless buffet tables, or big, big yards. My boy, you’re in Heaven and you are quite obviously disappointed.”

Edgar heard him the entire time and each word dripped into his veins like a blood drip on an IV, increasing in speed as the last sentence hit him. He couldn’t lie and he obviously couldn’t hide it. He was disappointed.

“It’s certainly not as glamorous as it was romanticized to be.” the Christian spoke slowly and with a dry crack of his voice.

“Edgar Vargas you’d do well to recall the quotes you’ve actually read. Not the ones that you hear pastors, songs, and drawings speak about. Unless,” there was a dangerous glint to his already pristine eyes and although there wasn’t a visible pupil or iris, his eyes bore into Edgar with a judgement unlike any he’d felt before, “you didn’t actually read a whole lot?”

The man swallowed, he could only recite John 3:16 and that was with the robotic mechanism of being whipped into etching it into his brain with the blunt edge of a butter knife.

“Now, there Edgar Vargas, I don’t mean to give you a hard time. It’s been a rough life for you. As a few of us are aware, it was especially… wasting on the soul.” Edgar’s right eyebrow jumped up at the way he drew out ‘wasting’ but he didn’t question it, his mind still swarming with quotes of eternity and forgiveness.

“And there’s your very own chair.” Damned Gregory gestured towards a chair, just like everyone else’s. A foldable wooden thing that had a piece of printer paper folded hot-dog style on the seat of it. His name was spelled out in dried-out Sharpie on one side of the foldable. There was a comical smiley face in the dip of his ‘V’. Maybe a damned was having a nice morning to have put a little extra effort into his place card. Or maybe a damned was mocking him and making inappropriate jokes beyond the grave. He couldn’t help the roll of his eyes as he contemplated the notion of damning yourself even further from Heaven.

“Take a seat, I just got a page from someone downstairs. It seems Senor Satan may have a better clue as to what exactly may be going on and we would hate for you to be all cut up in front of the dark lord himself.” Damned Gregory pulled at Edgar’s arms as the man lowered himself into the wooden seat. He had just realized his clothes were soggy and soaking wet just as he had left them on his body in the tub back on Earth. The seat became cracked and splintered at the liquid abuse. Edgar tried to focus on something else as Damned Gregory held down his forearm and worked at sewing his skin back up, much to do about the real wiring underneath. Gregory never did want to become a doctor.

As he worked Edgar took to asking his remaining two questions that he had neglected asking earlier, “You mentioned something about things being too expensive… there is currency in the afterlife?”

Damned Gregory let out a laugh, “In Hell, yes. The Damned are always looking to impress, not each other, no. They think themselves above one another. They all focus on the thought of an eternal audience. An eyeball in the sky that watches them and judges. What they don’t realize is that judgement has already been passed which is why they’re there in the first place. Another thing your fairytale storybooks fail to include is that it’s not the Devil who makes Hell.. well.. Hell; it’s the people there. Just think for a moment, would you, Edgar Vargas, of the most shallow and pretentious people you knew in your past-life.”

Edgar didn’t have to think long. A lifetime of bullying at the hands of peers and teachers alike. The uncomfortable scrutinization of all of his actions and fashions. He shivered in memory of cold glares and a blatant disregard for himself as a person.

“Now,” Damned Gregory continued, putting down Edgar’s finished forearm and picking up the other mangled one, he held it in his grasp, not breaking eye contact with the man in the chair in front of him, “imagine a world where just those people exist. Not a single kind soul. Not a single soul at all, they all live to impress, to give into desires, to take and take and take and never give. That is Hell, Edgar Vargas.” he pitted his wrists together and Edgar’s head inched down with Damned Gregory’s.

“Hell is Earth without the good you all sometimes completely ignore.” he gave Edgar’s arms a slight bump, still holding onto them tightly. For the first time since before his artery was cut open, Edgar really looked at his forearm. Before there were whispers of knives and bad days, childhood accidents, and a cigarette burn from a phase long-forgotten, but now his arm was so distinguishable from the rest of his body. The skin was split open like a mouth building up to a scream. Bone was visible, tendons were severed like string, and blood stained every corner and crease of his remaining arm. He nearly vomited.

“Earth is a good mix of good and bad, pure and evil, and saints and sinners. Though,” Damned Gregory chuckled darkly with the wiseness of an old oracle, “the latter far outnumber the former. Wouldn’t you say?”

Edgar only slightly acknowledged the demon as his eyes finally peeled from his injured arm to the stitched one. It was messy and disorganized, just like a rushed job should be, but it wasn’t as putridly horrid as his other arm.

“Once you get a glimpse at the other grass you begin to realize just how easily it too browns in the coldness of Winter or the heat of a Summer sun.” Damned Gregory continued as the man took his other hand and traced over the green yarn that seemed untouched by the gore.

The demon took hold of Edgar’s hand and turned it back over, palm side up. He had the one hand rested on Edgar’s cheek in a mockery of affection, “You’ll find soon, Vargas, that there is a big choice to make in all this. And I don’t necessarily mean between God and Satan, because we all know that whatever timeline you exist in, you will always run back to him.”

Edgar watched the peacefully sleeping gluttoned man across from the room. Just wished he could ask one question, but instead he asked the demon, knowing better than to ask information from the Lord that wasn’t offered first.

“Gregory?” Edgar said finally, looking up at the damned entity.

White orbs swiveled downward slightly to meet Edgar’s bespectacled glance. His reflection blinded him and he had to look away briefly as the other man continued piecing together his question. He knew Edgar’s question was not meant for him and very obviously could not be answered by him. He allowed the man to formulate his query anyways.

“If… I belong here, and this seat with my name on it implies I do, then why can’t I stay?” Edgar finally choked out, feeling like a helpless child leaving the playroom of a McDonald’s.

Damned Gregory trained his eyes on Edgar’s, trying to see past himself and answer the man before him. He tugged at the last piece of green string as he moved Edgar’s arms out inwards with his palms facing outward, he grasped the sweaty meat of Edgar’s clammy palms.

“I cannot answer that in a way that will satisfy you. I can only say that you just do not belong. Not now. It is wrong for you to be here, to witness this at all. Heaven is a gift you can only receive but once, yet here you are.” He noticed he had looked away from Edgar some time ago and his head looked back down to the man behind the glasses and finally down to his stitched up forearms. He slid back his palms and disconnected from between Edgar’s digits. Edgar gave way like a puppet, placing his arms into his lap and only slightly realizing that everything had begun to get cloudy. He had only guessed that he was crying or going blind.

“You ruined Christmas.” Damned Gregory said with a frown as he released his hold from Edgar’s body completely and the man disappeared from the wooden seat. Damned Gregory picked up Edgar’s place-card, eying a splotch of water damage, and placed it back on the chair before going back to his station at the Taco Bell.

Edgar found himself on his keister in the middle of an empty lot. He looked upward at the sky, taking note of towers that surpassed any percievable height known to mortalkind. The sky was red and right smack dab in the middle of its bleeding ugliness was a large eyeball and it was looking right at him. Edgar backed away, all frantic scuttering of his palms and heels. He threw himself onto his feet and breathed out heavily. So this was the eye that Damned Gregory spoke about?

“Hello, Saint Vargas. Fancy seeing you down here.” said a voice from behind him. Edgar jumped forward and whipped around with an inhuman amount of speed.

“Yoo-you’re…” he stuttered out, his pupils constricting in idiot fear.

“The source of all your qualms, the reason you can now curse over the radio, and the creator of daytime talk shows? Yes. I know you’re quite familiar with my work. And as am I with yours.” The devil peered down at Edgar past his small reading glasses.

“You’ve read my-?”

“Oh no, silly. I don’t have time for that. Here, let me get you something for your troubles seeing as you never really will belong to me, even if you weren’t a wastelock,” he flicked his wrist, “you’re about as untouchable as Mother Teresa.”

“A waste.. lock? Is that why I always feel so empty yet full at the same time?” Edgar asked, desperate for answers, even if they were from Satan.

“Oh dear. I was hoping to divulge some of this over a boba tea but it seems that I’ve misunderstood you, Edgar Vargas. I suppose now is better than later. At least sit, your mother told you that you may have had a brother at one point and you fainted with reality, can’t be doing that here.” The devil sat and patted the the curb in front of him. Edgar finally felt the feeling return to his legs; he slowly lowered himself onto the curb.

“You are familiar with how a lock and a key work? And how a lock works on the object being locked and furthermore on the controlled substance within said container.” The devil only slight asked; he was mostly just introducing the situation in a manner that was familiar to the human.

Edgar nodded.

“There is a system. I have a nondisclosure agreement on our relation to each other, so don’t try and ask anything of it. But yes, there is a system that keeps everything in line. Imagine if you will, a seal on a milk jug. It keeps it untainted and good enough for consumption. This system is the seal on the milk jug that is humankind. You may notice how vicious people are and wonder why their cruelty all seems to fall on you? Well that’s not a delusion, you have several others, but that’s not one.”

“Going back onto the notion of locks, the system has devised a mechanism of sort. A place, a physical presence whether a room, a glass, or a potted plant where all human aggression lives. This is the animal instinct to kill, maim, and harm at every slight irritation. I think you are smart enough to understand why such a thing needs to be locked up.” The devil stopped to glance at Edgar who looked into the gray asphalt with wide eyes. He took the man’s shell-shocked silence as a sign to go on.

“The place where this aggression lives is what is considered a cell. Somewhere to cage in this horrible, festering thing. You might remember the days getting longer and harder to deal with once you got that car from the old lot your grandfather used to work on?” The Devil met Edgar’s eyes finally.

“You’re telling me that old Civic is the cause of my suffering and the container of a hell-spawn-”

“This place had nothing to do with it-”

“-Eldritch monster!?” Edgar continued unfazed.

“This is beyond storybooks and make-believe, Edgar Vargas. You just inadvertently killed the entire human race with the expiration of your life.” Senor Satan snapped, “There are protocols in place for this of course. But it’s tricky and we’re still working on a better solution to it.”

Edgar’s eyes widened and then lowered to the ground in shame, “Is there any way I can help?”

Satan laughed with mirth, “Edgar Vargas, you’re always in such a rush to help, but are so slow to realize just how self-sacrificing offering your services to the Devil could be.” he casted his eyes down to Edgar.

“Why does everyone say my name like that?” he blurted out, his cheeks flushed but he continued, adjusting his glasses so that they covered his eyes properly again. “You all say it like my name is immaculate and that breaking it down is a cardinal sin.”

“Interesting choice of words there, young man. I think we all just use proper terms of addressing one another. There are trillions of Edgars and Vargases in existence, it makes it easier to keep track of who is who. Like for instance, there are countless Jonathan’s, infinite John’s, and plenty of Johnny’s.”

Edgar looked at him with building apprehension and confusion.

“There is only one of the name Johnny C.” the Devil clicked his tongue.

“What?” Edgar gasped out.

The Devil seemed to scrutinize him, just staring into his darkened face until the man could almost feel the touch of bony fingers clinging under taut flesh and pulling until only ribbons and strings remained. The Devil had his hand in his lap and blinked finally.

“You asked me, Edgar Vargas, if there is something you could do for me. To help, as you put it.” Senor Diablo studied his fingers with disinterest and looked back at Edgar.

“I did.” Edgar agreed, his sweaty brow knitted with concern.

“I think I will be taking you up on that offer. Though I do wonder how exactly one of your type would receive any type of reward, so I riddle you this.” the Devil uncrossed his legs and stared into Edgar’s eyes. He picked off the glasses and unveiled a perfect painting of fear that splashed across the man’s face. He revelled in it, drinking in every last crease of the forehead.

“I will send you back, but as a mortal. You will no longer be a waste-lock, your car will just be a normal Honda, and your life will resume relatively as it had before your death. However,” the Devil glared suddenly and a shiver spiked through Edgar’s system, “you not only put everyone’s life at risk but also ruined a perfect creation of God with those cruddy scars.”

Edgar looked on in disbelief, was the Devil really just using the temple message against him?

Senor Satan let out a small chuckle, “I would reward you if I could, but you’ve also smited me personally as I have to consult with that man upstairs in order to put the universe back together. And then there’s these threats and being told I’ll never be allowed near his children… all that rot. You’ve read. You know how it goes.”

“I’ll get to live again?” Edgar clung onto the tiny piece of hope being offered to him with the confusion and relief of a child earning a lollipop instead of a spanking.

“You will, but things will be different. This is where you realize that the lollipop is dirty and sour with saliva.” Satan smirked when he saw the shock pass over Edgar’s features.

“You will live again Edgar Vargas but since your existence had so many layers tacked onto it, between being a writer, the son of an esteemed bio-engineer, and a waste-lock to one of the most powerful of the cells, we had to wipe everything clean.” Satan’s lip pursed, “You are now as invisible as a perpetual stranger, as neutral as the middle of a magnet, and as significant as a pebble in the ocean.”

“I… damn.” Edgar breathed out, the sourness of the lollipop filling his nostrils and lungs with must.

“You should envy yourself, however, in comparison with your successor. He will feel pain unlike any known form of agony, and it will permeate beyond the flesh. He will grow sick.. Or rather sicker with the burden of what you failed to take on. Though I do believe, in a personal way, that he deserves everything that comes to him. Now tell me, Edgar,” Senor Satan smirked sickeningly at his growing despair, “how does it feel to kill someone?”

I’m not like you… im not like.. Not like you.. Clouded… not clouded.. I’m not like you..

I’m not clouded.

“In this new world you will awaken and find you remember nothing about your life before your end. You have no family, no friends, nothing. You will find Johnny C. and you will make it your mission to stop him from killing himself, from making the same selfish decision you so easily made with the flick of your wrist. In a month’s time the beast will make itself apparent to him and from there, there is no turning back. Johnny C. will become the new waste-lock and the proper flusher, unlike you, you were a purge. Big difference. His shack, the one that holds the designation of being 777, will house a cell, and the cell will be prepped for the beast in the time it takes for you to do your job. And you will do your job, Edgar Vargas.”

Edgar’s head spun with the information and a sudden onset of vertigo set his stomach to churning. “How do I do that? Why- why am I-?”

Satan suddenly gripped Edgar’s arms and pulled him out and away from the dizzying nausea, he could barely make out the form of the Devil’s face as the entity spoke.

“Everyone tries this method, but I’ve never seen anyone actually succeed.”

Edgar’s eyes slipped closed for a moment, a blink, and suddenly the red sky of Hell fell into white walls and the devil’s face was replaced with the disgusted sneer of a nurse. He realized without much more of a thought that he was back on Earth. He was being wheeled somewhere and he could feel the plastic restraints on his ankles, wrists, and torso start to dig into his slightly thin frame. His eyes swiveled from nurse to nurse as they talked about suicide and sin and Heaven and Hell; a lazy, drunken grin sat on Edgar’s face as he was probably the only one who knew the truth and he couldn’t tell a soul. He slipped back into unconsciousness.

When Edgar awoke he eyed a red vase with wilting striped carnations. Beside it was a card that read ‘it’s what got you here in the first place.’ Edgar stared at the dying flowers as he drifted off thinking about skinny fingers, dark hair, and wild eyes and green willows. Ink was everywhere, poured over the side of the table, pouring out of his head, and dripping down gruesome dingy walls.

The next time Edgar awoke was the last time. He was ready to fight for his consciousness, but instead found it relinquished to him. He was awake and his brain figured to keep it that way. He sat up on his elbows as he wondered where the restraints had gone. He could have sworn he was hooked up to a blood drip too at one point. His arms were immaculate, sporting white bandages in place of gnarly red lines. He looked around his room and found that most of it seemed as neat and clean as if even he hadn’t existed. Outside his door he could hear the beeps and drills of other patients but within the confines of his room on the seventh floor, nothing stirred. Edgar laid back against the padded bed, before reaching to the right for his glasses. After a quick scrub-down with his hospital gown (where had his clothes gone?), he placed the spectacles upon the bridge of his nose and looked around once more. The door was cracked and allowed him enough light to see that there wasn't any medical equipment of any kind. Just him, the bed, and a chair in the corner.

Slowly he slipped his legs out from under the sheets and found them touch the cold linoleum. This reassured him, despite the chill that set his body to freeze, at least he knew he was real. He glanced at the windowsill and found that the red vase and striped carnations remained where he had dreamed(?) them once being. He walked over and grabbed the card, hoping that maybe Satan was nice enough to give him some sort of direction.

He laughed dryly internally, the Devil is nice.

After looking into the margins and reading intensely into the letters of the words Diablo had put, he derived that no, he truly was alone in this. For real this time. He sighed and rubbed his shoulders, the hospital gown did nothing to stave off the biting cold that came in from the hallway. Edgar turned over in his mind how it would turn out for him to just walk out of his room and ask for his clothes back. He decided it would be worth a shot.

The man stepped into the hallway after lacing up his red converse, and walked towards the nurses station, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Yes?” the nurse drawled out. She looked at him with a sense of boredom, only flickering her eyes up to his face when he coughed.

“I was wondering if you still have my clothes? I’m- honestly not sure who brought me here, but I’m positive I did have clothes before.” he paused, “On me, of course.” he added as an afterthought.

“What’s your name?” she asked, spreading manicured nails into a familiar web of comfortable learned typing positions.

“Uh, Vargas, Edgar.” he stammered out as she typed away on her computer.

“Ah, yes. We have your stuff in the back with security, let me go get them.” she rose from her desk and walked into a further portion of the nurse’s station. She returned shortly after with a phone, his wallet, and some keys. She placed them on the counter in a biohazard bag while she began to print out his discharge information. “Now you know that if you continue to feel like a risk to yourself or anyone else you should come straight to the Emergency Room or call this number.” she highlighted a toll-free number at the top of the page.

Edgar allowed her to speak, but as she stapled the sheets talking of dressing wounds, preventing infections, and safety plans he felt compelled to speak up, “Uhm, you didn’t happen to see any clothes back there did you? I don’t mean to be a bother, I just, kind of don’t want to leave with a hospital gown on.”

“I’m afraid not sir, and don’t worry, everyone does. Sometimes the homeless will make themselves sick to get a bed and a nice gown to sleep in.” she sat back at her computer. “Have a good night and drive safe.”

Edgar nodded with resignation and stepped away from the counter, biohazard bag and papers in one hand and car keys in the other.

The man walked over to his Civic, cautiously, with the overwhelming knowledge of what it once was and what it had once done to him. He unlocked the car and sat behind the wheel, just existing for a few moments, before he turned on the ignition and headed towards the open road away from the hospital and its non-memories.

He pulled into the only gas-station within miles of the hospital. It was a decrepit place, where they sold pornographic magazines behind the counter and there was a special little compartment somewhere under the aforementioned counter for special little gremlins who liked to come out at night. It was also the type of shop to sell oversized shirts, baggy gym shorts, and scratchy undergarments.

The sign blinked one light at a time, 24. /. 7.

He opened the door and was welcomed by a friendly chime and the mechanical drone of ‘welcome to the 24/7 for all your late night fixes and early morning needs.’ came from a bored store clerk. He acknowledged them with a smile and nod and headed for the back end of the store, where there were packages of comically large clothing.

As he approached a stack of mix-matched t-shirts he heard the low groan of a tired man who clearly just wanted to go home but was audibly fighting with someone who was either speaking very low or on the phone with him.

He glanced over, being careful not to look too long and garner any unwanted attention.

The other man kneeled nearby a short shelf that had crayons, packs of ink pens, and spiral notebooks. He grabbed a pen pack and muttered something about ‘damn things using up all [my] fucking ink. Microns are meant for details NOT for lining.’

Edgar looked over again at the stranger and his sharp tongue and their eyes connected. The stranger’s eyes narrowed and it was only then when Edgar recognized the beginning of purple rings around his sockets. Edgar’s eyes widened and they held the air, the strange man and his wild black eyes and Edgar with his hospital gown and reflective lenses hiding the fear that betrayed him.

The young man turned more and much to Edgar’s chagrin, he wasn’t with anybody. He was alone. And he didn’t have a phone, nor was he wearing a bluetooth. The boy was just crazy.

Edgar tore the stare and quickly dug into a pile of white shirts for a medium (fuck it, extra large will have to do) and just any pair of shorts. He just had to leave, now, because the kid (he realized now that he was probably barely at the brink of twenty) was walking towards him.

He didn’t hold the same weight of ignorant violence as the one from his dreams and the cat on his shirt did not scream ‘homicidal maniac’.

“I’m sorry, forgive me of my prying, I do respect and expect privacy myself, but I couldn’t help but wonder just where the fuck you’re coming from?” The stranger had a silly grin on his lips, not like a snide sneer, but a look of amusement and curiosity all at once.

Edgar jumped at the familiar curse but found it didn’t sting like the thorn-riddled shrieks of a killer he could vaguely recall, instead it hung there just like most curse-words did, unnecessary and out of habit.

He found the words he needed to answer the boy and spoke them slowly, “Oh no, you're fine. I just left the hospital. They kind of lost my clothes, that's why I'm picking up some here.”

One of the kid’s eyebrows shot up and he looked past Edgar, “Huh. I probably should have guessed as much. My head has been particularly clouded lately,” he turned his attention back to the man, “so I apologize if I seem distant. Anyhow, I just left a Walmart downtown and got some new clothes. I'm willing to spare a shirt if you help me with something?”

The phrase accessory to murder flashed behind his eyes.

Edgar’s response was automatic, robotic, “Yeah, sure,” he quickly backed it up with, “but, don't worry about the shirt. I have money.”

“Don't be silly uh,” his hair fell into his eyes as he looked down, thinking; he brushed it back and smiled at the stranger, “what's your name?”

“My name is Edgar. Edgar Vargas. And may I ask who I'm having the pleasure of speaking with?” his lips curled into a smile that nearly mimicked the boy in front of him, despite a nervous twitch.

The man with the dark eyes’ smile stretched before it folded into an appropriate grin and he bowed dramatically, matching the faux professionalism that Edgar spoke with, coming back up swiftly, “Johnny, Johnny C. But seeing as we're sharing such an intimate moment, you can call me Nny.”

Edgar’s smile faltered, but still held stiffly, “So you're Johnny C.?”

Nny’s eyes widened dangerously, “Yes. Are you familiar with my work?”

Edgar’s brain spun like a cassette tape in a Walkman as it struggled to place this Johnny in front of him and the sickly thin entity that mysteriously shared his name in his nightmares. Johnny’s question barely registered and he stared back helplessly.

The boy’s eyes narrowed, “If so, then you may understand why I need you to do this favor for me.”

The man’s eyes widened as Johnny pulled out a pair of scissors from its place on the product wall. “You see, Mr. Vargas, my art is of a different median than you may be accustomed to. Not a lot of people are fans. Many complain about how grotesque it is, I think it's all in one's perspective. Don't you agree?” he whipped the scissors towards Edgar’s face. The flinch was noticeable despite the twin blades being encased safely behind cheap plastic.

Edgar nodded, a lump in his throat as he spoke, “Oh, sure. However, I do believe people are entitled to their own opinions.”

Nny either hadn't noticed or didn't care about Edgar’s uneasiness and lowered the scissor’s down to his side, “Well of course. But they can still be wrong, and what they say could end disastrously. In death, even, if you'd allow me to be dramatic.”

Edgar shook visibly, “Let's not be rash here.”

“It's true!” the boy exclaimed, “‘Ver since those bastards outed me for using blood on my artwork, I've been a laughingstock! Don't they realize that artists need to eat too and in order to get the money to get food, I need customers!? Patrons! Hell, just fucking throw pennies at me! I don't care at this point! Twenty-five of those could at least get me a packet of ramen!!”

Edgar blinked, confused but relieved, “Blood?” was all he could breathe out.

“I had a fucking nosebleed, okay? This particular commissioner didn't care that I was nearly dead with the flu, just wanted their dumb drawing of their stupid niece. I thought the blood would make a nice red for her dress. I guess I forgot that blood oxidizes. He wasn't happy about the brown. I wasn't gonna lie, so I told him. I ended up getting my fucking face plastered all over the town’s Art Block. After that nobody wanted anything I did and it…” Edgar noticed the streaks of gray falling down the boy’s face and his face scrunched up sympathetically.

“They started tearing down everything I did. I was too dark, I drew demonic things.. I was Satanic. A fucking witch! Can men even be WITCHES?!” he shrieked as his tears stopped and he hugged his arms to his body.

“Oh God. I'm.. I'm sorry, Nny.” he reached out, but Johnny jumped back like a frightened animal.

The man’s face, now even more wild with the lines of eyeliner streaking his cheeks was contorted into that of a grimace, his two arms pulled into his chest as if to pull away completely from Edgar.

“I.. I don't like being touched. I don't mean to be rude, but please never do that again.” Nny finally let out as he lowered his arms back down to his sides.

“No. No, you're right. I'm sorry. You just looked so distraught, it was a reflex. That's not an excuse; I truly am sorry.” Edgar’s brow knitted sadly.

Nny blinked, “Oh. Was I? I don't even remember. You know my mind has been wandering a lot lately. I suppose it may have to do with all the stress and shit of moving to a new place.”

Edgar nodded then turned his attention back to the scissors and changed the subject, “You said you needed a favor?”

Johnny snapped, “Ah! Yes. How good are you with cutting things?”

“F-fairly well, I suppose?” he stuttered, old fear laced in his words, “Depends on the material.”

“Tough things?” Johnny asked afterwards, piling three packs of eight-count ink pens into the crook of his arm.

“Sure.”

“Good! Let me go get these things real quick and I'll take you out to my car.” Nny began to walk towards the counter when he turned a sharp eye towards Edgar, “And you're sure that you have the money to buy those…. clothes.” he flicked his wrist dismissively.

“And you do?” Edgar snapped back in a non-vicious manner.

“Fair point. It's still nice to ask. Also, please, just allow me to at least give you a shirt.” Johnny said, eyeing the cardboard stiff cotton shirt and shiny gym shorts in Edgar’s arms.

“Okay, fine, since you're pulling my arm.” Edgar folded, while standing up and putting the small shirt back onto the display rack.

“It seems you've already done a good enough job than I have at that.” Johnny murmured, glancing quickly at Edgar’s bandaged forearms. Before the man could respond, he turned back to the cashier and placed his items onto the counter. He paid with his last twenty and stepped to the side so Edgar could finish his transaction.

“Will this be all?” the cashier asked, more out of habit than concern as with all retail workers.

Edgar looked at the candy bars behind the man’s head and was answered with a growl from his stomach, “Actually, can I have a Clustercrunch? Do you want anything, Nny?” he called to the boy behind him.

Nny shook his head, “No, thanks. I have a can of Skettios in the trunk waiting for me.”

“That's all then.” Edgar smiled.

The cashier rung everything up, Edgar paid, and soon the boy led him out the door.

“That was awfully nice of you.” Nny said as they walked towards an old gray car.

“Huh? Oh. Well, it's rude to eat around someone without first offering something too.” Edgar shrugged.

“A girl once sat directly in front of me and ate an entire Little Debbie Birthday Cake bar and then walked away after I commented how I hadn't ate in a week.” Nny said casually as he popped open the trunk and fished through a white plastic bag for a shirt.

Edgar’s eyebrow raised at the short story and then he noticed the fabric the boy held in his hands, “Is that a dress?”

“Yes.” Johnny said, “Remember what I said about a favor? Here.” he handed Edgar the scissors and shrugged on the dress. It hung loose on his frame. Edgar watched the tag for a size and took in a sharp breath at the bold ‘SM’.

Edgar grasped the scissors, “What do you want me to do?”

“Shove them into your eye socket and drive off a cliff. I hate stupid questions. What do you think I want you to do?” Johnny snapped and then pointed to the hem of the dress. “Cut that so that it looks like a flap. You know like this.” he traced a shape into the air. “Make it high up, like mid thigh.”

“Is this good?” Edgar asked, holding up the dress so that it reached where Nny held his flattened palm. He has careful not to come in contact with anything close to his body.

“That should be fine.” Nny affirmed and waited as the fabric was cut away and Edgar straightened out some of the messy fringes.

“These aren't really meant for clothes, you know? The fabric isn't giving very easily and it's fraying badly.” Edgar said, wiping away sweat that gathered on his nose, under his glasses. The hospital gown’s thickness was beginning to get uncomfortably warm.

“I know, but I don't have much of a choice. I must say that you're doing a fairly good job and that'll do for now.” he was handed back the scissors, which he threw on top of the bag of ink pens.

He took off the dress and smiled, “Looks good, Edgar Vargas! I'm glad we met tonight.”

“It's really no problem. I'm glad you're satisfied.” he smiled back, getting steady on his feet as Nny sat on the inside edge of his trunk.

“You know, it's none of my business, but I'm not one to quench curiosity by ignoring something.” he finally started after a moment’s silence. “Did you try to kill yourself?”

Edgar’s face probably betrayed him again, showing the blatant shock at the man’s straight-forwardness.

“I don't like to sugar-coat. As someone who frequently has the thoughts and has tried previously, I don't feel the need to shy away from something that isn't even worth hiding.” Nny explained, “You don't have to tell me anything if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn't. And lucky for you, one of the things I do remember is that, yes, I had tried… to do that.” Edgar answered, casting his eyes to the pavement.

“You know that's like the worst possible method right? On a list of methods most likely to work it's almost dead last. You seem like the type to do like, y’know, research on that type of shit. I bet you even paid off all your debt and wrote individual notes to your family members on the back of some checks.” Nny smirked, with a hint of what seemed to be badly-concealed jealousy.

“If I had written on the back of the checks they couldn't be cashed and that would be really selfish now would it?” Edgar returned smugly, which unnerved Johnny, who had wanted to shock.

“Pretty plain to me that people see the actual act in and of itself to be selfish, so it's a bit late to consider useless checks as a deal breaker there.” Johnny finally said back, his face more solemn than even Edgar was comfortable with. It brought the reality of the conversation down hard.

“Yes well, I had to leave some money to get the blood stains out of the tiles.” he tried to joke but it came out more pathetic and only made Nny shiver, “Anyways, as if I needed to answer you, yes. I did try to kill myself and no, I didn't check my chances. I just kind of... did it.”

“Impulsive. You don't seem like you would do that. Must have been a really bad day, huh? Not enough ranch packets with your McNuggets?” there was no humor in Johnny’s words, they were bitter and meant to sting.

“What gives you this impression that I was so well off in the first place? I mean, I'm here buying five dollar convenience store shorts at two in the morning.” Edgar frowned, noticing the change in tone.

“Oh please, you just went here because it was the closest place from the hospital. But,” he let out a sigh, “I'm sorry. I'm normally not this… angry, and it wasn't right to take it out on you. Whatever happened… I'm sure you did it because it seemed the only way you could get out of it all. And I can relate.” Nny’s legs stretched out ahead of him, the toe on his boot tapped the ground three times before he turned to Edgar, “I too was cheated out of a third dipping sauce.”

Edgar nearly let out a laugh as Nny chuckled, breaking the serious air between them, “Man, we sure are fucked up.”

Nny nodded, “Damn right.” he straightened and stuck up a bony finger, “Right! The shirt!” He pulled a white grocery bag into his lap and patted the space next to him, signaling the man to join him on the trunk.

Edgar hesitated at first, but then gingerly walked over to and sat on the edge of the gray car.

Johnny pulled out a striped shirt. “Serves me right for just piling shit into a cart without paying attention. Lucky for you, though, you seem like a medium.”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks.” he held onto the soft fabric, looking at the tight pattern of stripes; the closeness was almost mesmerizing.

“Thin stripes aren't really my thing, at least not as the foreground of my clothing. And as you can probably tell, I'm not one for wearing a lot of colors. So Google colored stripes were also a no. Huh. Come to think of it, why the fuck did I even grab it?” Johnny held his chin thoughtfully.

“Divine intervention, probably.” Edgar half-joked half-answered.

“Fan of the religious stuff about fate and miracles? I misjudged you Edgar Vargas, thought you'd be a lot less naive.” Nny laughed.

“That's rude. I'm not naive. What, you don't think that someone or something out there is in control of everything that happens?” Edgar poked verbally.

“They're doing a shit job at controlling it. Or your god is very sadistic.” Nny bent forward, bringing his knees closer to his body and resting his chin on top of his folded arms that laid on his kneecaps.

“Don't you know there are other beings out there that seek to destroy so that you believe it's in my God’s name?” Edgar shot back, familiar with the argument.

Nny stared back, the look on his face unreadable, and his eyes narrowed as he looked ahead again, “Devil, demons, and all that? Nah. I believe we're all in control of our actions.”

Edgar looked at Johnny, “The two ideas can coexist, you know? The idea that we may be in control of what we do, but also there's a darker evil that brings us to do the things we do.”

The look came back and it was then that Edgar could accurately see the rings of purple that encased the man's eyes. Bruised from neglect of proper sleep. Red tinged the edges and led to pinpricks of red that shattered the outskirts of his sclera.

“You bought a lot of pens. Must finally be getting good business then, huh?” Edgar changed the subject yet again when Johnny’s eyes began to glaze over.

“Oh.” Nny said, his eyes blinking a few times before narrowing again slightly, “Oh, oh no. No, those are for another thing I'm working on. I wish I was being paid for this.”

“A request?” Edgar asked as he watched Nny uncase a pen and hold it in his fingers.

“No. Maybe. Well… it's complicated. I don't want to get into it, besides, I'm sure you have somewhere to be.” Nny shut down the conversation so swiftly that Edgar barely registered the change until Nny had thrown the pen into a bag and hopped out of the trunk.

“Not really. But I won't press. I guess this is it then?” Edgar sighed, clutching the shirt in his fist as he rose to his feet.

“I’m afraid so. It was nice meeting you, Edgar Vargas. If there is anything I can do for you, that requires the experience of one and a half years of art school or the use of a pen, please don't hesitate to ask.” Nny bowed and then slammed the trunk shut before walking towards his driver’s side door.

“Actually, I do have something you can do for me and it requires the use of a pen.” Edgar spoke up immediately after.

Nny turned around, “Oh?”

“I'll be back in a moment.” Edgar ran off into the darkness of the night towards the dimly lit gas pump. He opened up the passenger door and fished out the card he had received from Senor Diablo. He met with Nny, who stood waiting at the side of his car.

“Do you have a phone?” Edgar asked first, the card held in his hand.

“I do. The electricity company is supposed to come by later this weekend to turn everything on. Why?” Johnny asked genuinely.

“I thought you hated stupid questions.” Edgar jabbed.

“Not a stupid question. I'm just… curious… confused? Nobody ever asks for my number, if that's what you want.” Johnny defended himself.

“Well I do. Will you do me the honors?” Edgar held out the card to Nny, who took it and fished a pen from his back pocket.

Nny’s eyebrow cocked at the message on the card, “Ouch. Someone's mad at you. Couldn't even wait until you were home to start the shaming and blaming.”

He scribbled down his land-line number and handed the card back to Edgar, “I'd wait until Monday to attempt contact. Not that it'd be much of a problem. You're probably in mass until eleven at night anyways, church boy?”

The man’s face burned and he pushed his glasses further up his nose, “Duly noted, minus the snide remark.”

Nny grinned, first with a sneer and then with a genuine happiness, “It was really nice meeting you, Edgar. You sometimes forget that good people exist out there.”

“Aw, you got me all choked up,” Edgar smiled back, a snarky twitch of the lips.

“I'm serious. I… I've been in this town for only a few weeks and it feels like everyone just hates me. I walk down the street and get called names. From people I don't even know! It's just these strangers who feel entitled to comment on me, like I'm walking around with a sign that says ‘verbally mutilate me!’” Johnny croaked out before progressing into a steady scream.

The concerned look returned to Edgar’s face and he was reminded that this new relationship was not going to be without major hiccups. The unfortunate truth of Johnny's predicament came with a flood of hazy memories that brought about the current state of his forearms.

“Sorry. I can be pretty dramatic. I didn't mean to freak you out. I'm just glad you're here.” Johnny smiled sheepishly while tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Thank you, Johnny. That means a lot to me.” Edgar managed to force a believable smile, reality slowly dragging down the corners of his lips.

“I will see you about and around, Mr. Vargas. Try and stay out of trouble.” he joked as he climbed into the gray car and behind the wheel.

Edgar chuckled softly, “Sure. See you, Nny.”

Johnny started the ignition and was soon driving onto the long stretch of road that lead back to town. Edgar watched the gray car and red tail lights disappear before he walked back to his own car. He left the gas station and headed in the direction of the towering buildings and quiet neighborhoods. Soft music played as he relaxed slightly into the upholstery. Johnny’s striped shirt, hugging his form comfortably while he turned down the road to the vaguely familiar apartment complex.

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to pop back in to say thank you for reading if you did! I wrote this at three in the morning several different nighttimes in a row, so forgive me if there's any glaring errors. I proof read it, but my eyes always fail me regardless.


End file.
